


No Waste

by Arithanas



Category: Mulan (1998)
Genre: 1950's China AU, Alternate Universe - Historical, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27571216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: Fa Mulan, even in a different historical period, would abandon her house to fight for her country.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15
Collections: 2020 Disney Animated Movie Exchange (DAM Exchange)





	No Waste

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vendettadays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vendettadays/gifts).



In the still of the night, the stakes were higher than before. Fa Mulan cut her hair with the same scissors her mother used to cut the Kuomintang propaganda that arrived at their door. 

As her hands picked up the cut strands of her once long hair, Mulan looked at the calendar. The sun had faded the colors, but the dragon around the red characters comforted her. Dragon had always been her family’s protector since they were on the farm. They might have moved because they were not strong enough against the Big Three, but they were far from defeated.

Her hair ended up in a bag, probably Grandmother could make a wig and sell it to a foreigner before the glorious campaign was over; her hair could mean food for three months or more in her capable, venerable hands. Mulan resisted the urge to pray to her ancestors to keep her elders safe. The time was not right to succumb to the old traditions. The World was changing and The Nation needed soldiers with a clear mind.

Fa Mulan looked at the small room her parents had set aside for her. Her heart ached with gratitude for those damp-stained walls, that thin mattress on the floor, that little cracked window. She was afraid to stay put, to wait a couple of hours and follow her mother to the factory line, to use her eye for detail to assemble piece after piece with no end in sight under the foreign supervisor who insisted they should cut corners, to work faster, to be less safe. She felt her lips disappearing into a thin line. Her grandmother would have a thicker mattress and her parents one less mouth to feed if she picked her bag.

With the bag hanging from her shoulder, she caressed the printed dragon on her paper calendar. A bit of superstition lingered in her brain as she begged Dragon to come to her. Silently, she pulled the curtain and stepped into the living area where her dearest Grandmother slept. Her soft snoring was a comforting sound. Old people sleep so little that her sleep falls on Mulan’s heart like a balm.

Mulan pulled the other curtain to steal a last glance from her parents. Moon kissed the silver in her father’s hair and the wrinkles—sculpted by three years of worries—around her mother’s eyes. Long hours working in the factory left them spent, and even then, Fa Mulan didn’t dare to step inside their room so she bowed to show them the respect and love they deserved. Her heart pounded so hard inside her chest that, for the briefest moment, she thought it was going to break. Swallowing back the words, the tears, the memories of her happy, oblivious childhood, Fa Mulan took a step back, bowed again, put her life savings on the table, and moved to the door without a sound.

Three flights of stairs down to go, three chances to get cold feet.

While Mulan started to climb down, the first thing she did was to put the olive cap over her now short hair. She felt more sure now that her head was covered, and her thoughts were hers again. The brim of the hat covered her brow and concealed her high hairline. There would be time to think of beauty later when The Nation was free and feeding Her children. The second flight of stairs gave her space to pull out the jacket of her bag and put it on. The fabric weighed on her shoulders, but her mind told her that he was just too used to wearing threadbare shirts that she had forgotten how proper clothes should feel like. On the landing, she changed her skirt for the olive pants and tied her belt to make the clothes fit her frame better. The clothes of her former life were abandoned inside the bag at the end of the last flight of stairs. Mulan, taking a deep breath, pushed the heavy, but unlocked door of the residential building.

The street was quiet outside the building where many families like her did their best each day and barely kept their heads above the water. Injustice made her rage, but she had chosen her path and she had a place to go. 

Hope drove her forward through the unlit streets, despite the fright of the dangers of the night. It wasn’t long before a group of three men—one tall, one short, and one very big—crossed paths with Mulan crossed on a corner. Mulan, knowing that corrupt factory owners often sent men like this to bully the workforce into submission, stood her ground. 

“Who’s there?” asked the short one, raising the oil lamp to look better.

“Who’s asking?” Despite her run for freedom being cut short, Mulan refused to answer to anyone without a justified reason.

“Bah!” exclaimed the tall one with a shrill, piercing voice. “It’s just a girl!”

“Come on, Yao,” the big one said as he pulled his friend in a hug. “We have places to go and things to do…”

Mulan watched them go down the street. It might be her imagination, but Mulan could swear she saw the thin book with red tape over the spine in his back pocket. The idea of having one of them working against the gangs from inside made Mulan’s step lighter.

A sea of olive uniforms, red bands, and boots roared at the platform. A ton of excited teens paid attention to Li Shang as he paced with a battered copy of Selected Works of Mao Tse-Tung in his hand. Mulan felt immediately enthralled by Shang’s voice as she was during the Third Chinese New Democracy Youth League Conference a couple of years ago.

“Time is racing toward us!” Shang told the many members of the Youth League reunited in front of him. “The New Democracy can’t be stopped and we must heed Comrade Mao’s guide and we might survive! Come to the campaign, comrades, a new future awaits for us!”

The whole mass of young workers moved to get inside the cars. Fa Mulan moved with them but stopped before she was close enough, breath trapped inside her throat. Young men rushed by her side, but she had just noticed something: there were no young women.

“Are you coming, comrade?” Li Shang asked, pointing at Mulan with his book.

“I am a woman,” Mulan replied in confusion and looked at Li Shang. “My name is Fa Mulan.”

Li Shang looked at her with a perplexed expression. After a couple of heartbeats, he opened his jacket, put his book inside, and walked toward her. Mulan felt the need to duck and to cover her head, but she stood her ground and looked at Li Shang with the rest of her resolve.

“Fa Mulan,” Shang started after he stood still and martial. “You might need to study harder. The Party has forbidden three things: Corruption, Bureaucracy, and Waste!”

Mulan nodded. Last year, despite her mother’s vigilant eye, she got notice of the new directives issued by comrade Mao. The refresher was hardly necessary, so Mulan waited, holding Shang’s eyes.

“Leaving you behind would be a waste,” Shang concluded and extended his hand toward Mulan. “Come, let’s bring forth the New Democracy.”

Mulan nodded again to signal her comprehension and let Shang guide her toward the packed car where the army of the Youth League was singing the March of the Volunteers. She climbed up, and Shang behind her. 

Mulan looked back as the train left the platform, sent her love to her family, and then looked at Shang and with him, to the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Cinnamongirl replied to the Hippo Call and did her best to make this fic readable, any remaining mistake belongs to this author.


End file.
